


As Loud as Lions

by Rellie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:22:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rellie/pseuds/Rellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cersei will not stand for having what is hers stolen.</p><p>Alternative Canon from the beginning of A Feast For Crows/Based on the Fairytale 'Rapunzel'</p><p>Monsters Maidens and Creatures In Between challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

As Loud as Lions

_"How dare you," she said, with a wrathful glance, "climb into my garden and steal what is mine like a common thief? You shall suffer for your foolhardiness."_

-Rapunzel

The woman stood in the centre of the room, shaking and barefoot, clad only in a shirt and breeches, her face bloodied and bruised from her capture. The smallness of the room seemed to make her appear even larger and she loomed easily a head and shoulders above the Queen. From the stories Cersei had been expecting a confident, powerful warrior but instead she stood like an overgrown child, cringing and uncomfortable in her own skin.

Lady Brienne of Tarth.

That was a joke unto itself, if this thing was a lady then _she_ was a beggar’s daughter.  

The men who’d brought the woman to her had been common outlaws and had certainly not spared their fists when capturing the giantess. Her clothes had been ripped and blood stained, her face so swollen she scarcely looked human. _Maybe they had raped her_ Cersei thought; finding herself rather pleased at the idea _Maybe even now she has some outlaws bastard growing her in belly._

_How would you like that Jaime? To see your precious, pure maiden brought so low as to have a base-born bastard swelling her stomach._

She had sent Ser Osmund to Jaime with the tidings. Given him the bloodied armour and sword to present as proof… the noble Brienne of Tarth slain by outlaws in the Riverlands. How tragic, how worthy of song, she would be nobly remembered...

Lady Briennes’ face was even uglier than Cersei had recollected.  

She had been expecting the woman to be a great wit, or perhaps quick of tongue. Something had to have drawn Jaime to her after-all.  But thus far she had simply stood mute in the centre of the room, staring at her distrustfully with her beseeching cows eyes.

Why had Jaime been so enamoured of this ponderous, dull-witted creature?

This thing had taken her brother, her other half, her one constant and stolen him away. In his place she had left some oaf who cared more for honour than sense and who mooned about like a lovestruck child. It had taken her too long to realise it was not losing his hand that had changed Jaime but this thing being by his side.

And by the time she had realised it, the Lady Brienne had already slipped away to the Riverlands to find that ungrateful, murderous Stark girl on Jaime’s bidding and to keep her safe. To return her to her home, after she had committed treason, after she had assisted her wretched little brother in cravenly murdering Joffrey. To rise her to a Queen maybe, another one to defy her and try and steal what was rightfully hers.

Cersei didn’t want to believe it but it was possible that even her own twin plotted against her. She needed to understand how this woman had taken him before she disposed of her.

“Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Lady Brienne. I do hope you find the accommodations to your liking.”

Noble captives were always kept in towers, and she had graciously followed through with that tradition- choosing the highest, narrowest tower in the Keep in which to house her guest. Its walls were so thick the slit windows barely let in any sunlight and the door was as solid a piece of oak as could be found, at least ten inches thick. There was one window that opened, set far too high in the wall for any man to reach without aid of a pole…designed to let ravens fly back and forth, should the captive noble be allowed to communicate with their kin, most likely to beg for ransom money. It did not matter anyhow, Lady Brienne would be sending no ravens.

“Why am I here?” Brienne spoke haltingly, as if she had to weigh each word “You’re Ser Jaime’s sister… the Queen… why am I here?”

Cersei considered the other woman’s homely, confused face.  Her eyes were that of an innocent, it was true…almost pretty in their own way.  Had Jaime been caught by them? Could he have possibly have overlooked the hideousness of her other features for those eyes?

The words that Kettleblack had spoken to her when she’d first heard of the creature’s existence came back to her then sharply.

_“You know what they call her? The Beauty, cruel nickname on account of her being ugly as a painted pig.”_

_Queen you shall be,_ the old woman had told her that night, _until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear._

No one would call this creature beautiful except in jest but…prophecies were not exact and some undeniable part of her had whispered that it could not be a coincidence not when this creature had twisted Jaime to her will, taken him away. It was unlikely  though that she was the younger queen the mad old woman had spoken of…how low would the Seven Kingdom’s have to sink for a Lady of a backwater like _Tarth_ to take the throne? If the prophecy were anything more than the ramblings of a deluded old crone then it was Margaery with which she needed to concern herself.

And yet…

_I must not take chances. Margaery will be dealt with and then my brother’s whore can join her in whichever of the Seven Hells is deepest._

Besides, even though this woman was no threat to her, half the Kingdom it seemed had begun to whisper of her and Jaime. It was doubtful he’d actually touched the creature but still she would not let him bring down shame upon their house by running around with this… thing.

Brienne took a step forward, not menacingly but the guards Cersei had brought with her tensed nonetheless, hands on the hilts of their swords. They would take no chances. The woman brought herself up short, eyes flickering worriedly to their swords, before asking again,

“Why have you brought me here?”

Cersei didn’t answer, choosing instead to gesture for the guards to see her to the door. She would leave the Lady Brienne to torment herself with the possibilities for a while, she deserved to worry after all the trouble she had caused.

_If not for her, Jaime would never behave so insolently toward me…_

Ser Osmund Kettleblack was waiting for her outside the beast’s door and he fell easily into step with her as she swept past.

“How did my brother take the tidings of Lady Brienne’s death?”

“Just went quiet, didn’t really say much.” Kettleblack scratched at his face “You’re sure she was the one? I mean…”

He didn’t have to finish the thought. Lady Brienne was an ugly creature and it was difficult to comprehend any man having such regard for her. Some of the tales that had reached her ears spoke of what a mockery she’d been made at Renly’s camp, how they’d attempted to woo her for sport…really she was rather surprised no one succeeded, a woman like that should have been salivating for any man who did not run screaming from the room when she removed her clothing.

“It’s her, I’m sure of it.”

 

Cersei waited for three hours before she made her way to Jaime’s chambers. It would not do to display unseemly haste in going to him, she must not let him know that she knew anything at all of Lady Brienne.  It felt strange to make her way to the Lord Commander’s chambers rather than Jaime’s old ones though she had not spent much time even there, it would have been too suspicious.

He had always been the one to come to her.

She knocked and then pushed the door slowly open, greeted only by soft firelight and stillness.

“Jaime?”

Her brother was sat by the fire, as unmoving as if he had been carved from stone, staring down at the sword that was in his hands. His eyes were dry though, if he were truly passionate about the woman surely he would have wept.

 _He would weep for me, if he thought me dead. He cares little for her,_ Cersei decided _It was nothing but rumours after-all._  Her heart was a little gladdened by it.

“You are upset about the Lady of Tarth I take it. I was saddened to hear of her passing.”

She paused by the door, waiting for Jaime to look up, to acknowledge her in some way but he just kept his gaze fixed on the sword. The flickering light on his face made him suddenly remind her of father, highlighted the lines around his eyes. It was that ridiculous beard, she decided, father had never worn one but it made Jaime look old, older than his years certainly. She wondered what it would take to make him shave it off.

“We will always be grateful to her for returning you to us,” Cersei continued, growing annoyed at his stony faced silence, “Perhaps a raven and a donation of gold to her family.”

Her generous offer was met by more silence and she was forced to grit her teeth in order not to speak harshly to him. She must be warm, open, a sister offering comfort…or a lover if he so desired… to a grieving brother who had lost a friend. But as the minutes ticked on in silence he never once lifted his gaze.

She wasn’t sure if he even heard her when she finally took her leave.

 

The straw pallet was itchy and uncomfortable but Brienne had slept on worse. What kept her awake wasn’t that, nor the frigid cold that was seeping slowly into her bones. It was the low thrum of fear in her stomach, the one that made her feel unworthy.

She had not feared on the road, not even when it would have been sensible to do so.  So why did she fear so greatly now?

Maybe it was the uncertainty.

Brienne supposed she was lucky that they hadn’t poisoned her or stabbed her, thrown her in the nearest ditch but…why not? It had to mean that she had more value to them alive than dead but that simply didn’t make sense, what value could she hold for the Queen?

She turned over, the sackcloth scratchy against her skin. Sometimes faintly,  she could hear the sounds of King’s Landing through the slitted window…the guards indistinctly calling to each other, the sounds of the great doors of the keep being opened and closed, the sounds of horses and carts, of people going about their business, even this late. But they were all distant, unclear, as if they came from a very long way away.  

Brienne thought of the last time she was here, of the last cell she had been held in…it had been for her protection that time, Ser Jaime had been ensuring her safety. This couldn’t be about Renly’s death again could it? Jaime had released her once, did his sister have the power to seize her again for the same supposed offense?

Ser Jaime was the only thing she had in common with the Queen and she failed to see what that had to do with anything at all.

The Queen…

Brienne had been expecting the woman to look like Jaime, everyone always said how they looked alike and when she had glimpsed her from a distance during her first stay here she had agreed. They were both beautiful, sculpted and golden. But now she’d seen her up close, nothing could be further from the truth.

While Jaime’s eyes were warm, the Queen’s had been burning.

 

It was dark in the Great Sept of Baelor when Jaime entered, save for the candles flickering at the altars. In a few hours the septons would file in for their midnight ceremonies but for now the sept was quiet and still, his footsteps echoed loudly in the cavernous expanse as he made his way across the deserted floor.  

He didn’t even have her body but with great care he laid the few twisted parts of her armour at the feet of the forbidding statue of the Warrior. The High Septon might complain, only the very important or rich were honoured in this sept. _Let them_ , he thought, _let them bleat about it till the end of days._ Brienne had been important and if not for him she would still be alive. If the only thing he could do was see that her memory was honoured then he would do it.

He would have to find out if someone had told her father, send a raven if not. Had she mentioned other family? He’d asked her once he was sure but he could not remember if she had siblings or a mother. Or was it just her father left to mourn her?

It had been mere weeks ago he had stood vigil for his own father. Another death that he had caused.

_I loosed Tyrion and he put a crossbow bolt through my father’s stomach. I entrusted my last chance for honour to a noble, naïve young woman and sent her out into the war-torn countryside. She died trying to right my wrongs._

He had talked to his father almost without meaning to on those long nights he had stood vigil over his corpse. It had seemed so odd to him that his father had not answered back, had neither berated nor guided him. To stand in Tywin Lannister’s presence and hear his own voice so uninterrupted… well it had not happened in life.

Would it be easier if she were here, laid out on the dias? Easier to convince himself she was really dead? Would he have spoken to her corpse as well, told her things he never had in life? Like how he admired her, how she had made his path clear to him again…

A septon was making his way slowly but purposefully across the echoing hall toward him. Come to throw me out, thought Jaime, the Faith of the Seven seemed to look less than benevolently on the crown as of late. Cersei was fuming because they would not bless Tommen and because of the camp of ‘Sparrows’ that covered the square, seemingly convinced they existed merely to spite her.

The little man shuffled up beside him, but Jaime barely spared him a glance until he cleared his throat and said, “I was informed the Lord Commander had entered, I thought I should greet him.”

He’d not been aware he’d been observed.

“You are the High Septon then? Forgive me, I did not know.”

Tradition dictated he should have knelt before the man but as he was already kneeling perhaps the transgression would be overlooked.

The new High Septon was an unassuming little man who looked more like a beggar than anything, barefoot and in clothes that were little more than rags really. There was a clarity, a purpose to his gaze though. Different to his predecessors who had all been as over-indulged and ineffectual, as pompous as the members of court.

“We are requesting that members of the Kingsguard do not come armed into the High Sept.”

Jaime hesitated for a moment, hand lingering on the hilt of his sword. A Kingsguard was never without their sword and since his return his had never been far from his side even if he was little capable of using it currently.

The High Septon stood patiently before him, hand outstretched, waiting.

He unbuckled his sword swiftly before he could change his mind and thrust it into the Septon’s grasp. What good was it anyway? He couldn’t use it, maybe if he’d been able to then he could have fixed his own mistakes rather than sending Brienne to her death in a failed attempt.

“Take it.”

“And the other…”

Rather than leaving, the High Septon peered curiously over his shoulder at where he had laid out Brienne’s sword and armour. He could see the little man’s face reflected in Oathkeeper’s blade.

“No. This one stays.”

They could take his sword but Oathkeeper would remain here.

“Whose armour is this?”

The little man reached down and laid his gnarled hand on it. Jaime bit back the urge to snap at him not to touch it.

“A good woman’s.”

The septon removed his hand but if he was surprised that it belonged to a woman then his expression did not give it away.

“And how did she die?”

Jaime grit his teeth, wondering why this pious oaf persisted in asking him questions when it was clear he wished to be let alone. Was he not to even to be allowed time to mourn?

“Trying to find and protect an innocent girl, trying to restore my honour.”

The little man dropped to his knees beside him, regarding the statue with a reverent expression that set Jaime’s teeth on edge. Did he mean to stay and pray with him? How sanctimonious, this little priest had not known Brienne therefore he could not mourn her.

“Then she deserves to be here as much as anyone. Quite tragic…women were not meant to take the path of the Warrior, this much is obvious.”

“She was a more noble and capable warrior that most of the Kingsguard combined.”

No doubt there were those who would decry him for claiming a woman rivalled the abilities of his sworn brothers but he spoke only truth. Brienne of Tarth had been a remarkable fighter.

Finally the little man got to his feet and left him to his own devices in the dark and the quiet. It seemed he must have given orders because after that Jaime was thoroughly ignored by the devout who conducted their business within the Sept. They simply moved around him in much the same way they had done when he’d kept a vigil for his father.

Hours passed before he got to his feet again, light already beginning to trickle into the Sept from the high windows. At fifteen when he’d finally finished the vigil he took before the Warrior when becoming a Kingsguard his knees had been scrapped bloody by the stone. Now, a man grown, they ached fiercely after only a few hours.

_Do you mean to stay here, to make a wreck of yourself over her death?_

He stayed standing for a moment, as much to allow his knees a moment to recover as anything, picking up a taper and lighting a candle to place before the Warrior.

After some hesitation he picked up another and walked stiffly over to place it at the altar of the Maiden. He did not pray much these days, had long since stopped caring much for the Faith of the Seven. And when he had prayed as a younger man it had always been, without fail, to the Warrior.

Jaime stood for a moment, staring up into the serene face of the statue above him. It was a blank face, carved to reflect the kind of vapid inoffensive prettiness that seemed to define maidenhood for some.

Had Brienne died a Maid? Or had these outlaws taken that from her as well as her life?

Getting back down onto his aching knees, he bowed his head and prayed to the Maiden for the first time in his life.

_Please, if it is true, let her be at peace. Let her not have suffered too greatly._


	2. Chapter 2

The morning had dawned bright and promising but, even as Cersei settled down to break her fast, she could see bruise coloured storm clouds were creeping down ominously from the North. A sure sign they would have a downpour later. It did not concern her, in fact, knowing as she did of the plans made by Lady Margaery and her little hens to ride out that morning, it pleased her greatly. Perhaps they had even left already, at first light when it seemed like it would be a clear day and would soon come back shivering, soaked to the bone. Maybe the little queen would even oblige her by taking a fever and neatly dying.

Cersei smiled to herself as she spooned honey onto her warm bread. That would be sweet indeed.

Tommen was sat opposite her, chewing sullenly on his food. She had forbidden him to go riding with his little wife, he would be grateful when she came back sneezing and soaked to the skin.

There was a deep and threatening rumble from outside her window, and then the skies opened with such enthusiasm that it made her laugh aloud to think of Margaery and her cousins shrieking and scampering for cover amongst the trees.

“Ser Osmund,” she gestured the man over from his post by the door “please inform my brother I wish to speak with him.”

He hesitated,

“Your grace, your brothers at the Sept. We went down to get him at daybreak but he refused to leave. Said the next man to disturb him would come back without his head.”

What kind of fresh idiocy was this? Jaime believed as little in the Gods as she did, why would he even care to go to the Sept?

One of Tommen’s kittens scampered in, dripping wet and clutching a dirty grey mouse in its jaws. Normally she did not mind the little things, found their antics amusing even but today the tiny cat seemed determined to vex her. It looked directly at her as it calmly spat the drenched mouse onto the floor by her feet. Of course, anything that Margaery had gifted him would have to make itself a nuisance to her.

The little mouse ran about, bloodied and panicked in the space under the table. She wrinkled her nose, twitching her dress hastily away lest the creature decide to run up it. Tommen threw himself to his knees in completely disregard for his clothing, nearly upsetting his plate as he grabbed at it as it scampered past.

“Ser Osmund, please put it out of its misery.”

He stepped forward obligingly just as the mouse ran past and its tiny skull crunched loudly beneath his boot. Tommen’s lip trembled but he tried his hardest not to show his upset as he settled back into his seat. He was still so innocent, so in need of guidance.

“Sometimes it is better if things die,” She reached across the table to stroke his hair back from his forehead “You must be strong enough to know that.”

 

Days passed before Cersei allowed herself to see her captive again. It would not do to play with her own little mouse too much, she had responsibilities to attend to after-all and someone might become suspicious about where she was disappearing to. But early on the third day since the woman’s capture, the Queen decided to indulge herself a little.  

The woman leapt to her feet immediately when she entered, ugly face set and determined. No doubt she’d spent her time trying to decide on her best course of action.

“Ser Jaime won’t allow this.”

Cersei had been expecting to see a wreck, the Lady Brienne fearful and red-eyed, sobbing perhaps, pleading certainly, but instead her gaze was disappointingly strong and clear. Maybe she didn’t have the wits to be afraid. It made her want to shake this ponderous cow of a woman, anything to rid her of the tiresome hope that was still shining in her face.

_You really believe my brother will come for you, a knight in shining armour? You poor fool._

“Jaime thinks you dead and buried.”

That brought Brienne up short, staring at her with a look of dull bovine confusion.

“What?”

“Do I need to repeat myself? More slowly perhaps?”

A blush tore across the woman’s cheeks then, not a maiden’s pretty pink flush but a deep ruddy red that made her freckles stand out even more like splotches of dirt on her skin.

Cersei had always despised freckles. Ever since Melara’s treachery.

“You were cut down by outlaws in the Riverlands, not an uncommon tale for times of war.”

Her repulsive face went slack, mouth hanging open slightly.

“Does he mourn for me?”

She asked it in a small voice, shoulders hunched. This one was young, despite her appearance…barely more than a child. But a troublesome child, one who needed to learn the cruelties of the world.

“No.”

“You’re lying.” Even underlying the hurt there was a calmness in her voice, a flatness that spoke of deep unshakable certainty.

_How utterly ridiculous._

“He mourns you in the way he would a mangy dog that followed on his heels,” Cersei said in a considering voice “He mourns you in a fleeting manner.”

Brienne wasn’t crying yet but at least her eyes had a glassy look about them now and she was sagging against the wall.

The woman looked like a dog that was certainly true, the mongrel kind that scrounged on the streets of King’s Landing for scraps, eyes full of hurt and always ready to dodge a kick. She had the same hunted look about her.

It was cold in the tower room and Cersei drew her cloak closer about herself, wishing she had a cup of hot spiced wine to warm her. It irked her slightly that even only in her breeches and shirt, Lady Brienne didn’t appear to be shivering.

_I should have her blankets taken away…_

Maybe when this was over she’d give her to Qyburn… he would surely appreciate such a strong body to use in furthering his knowledge.  She still did not like to think of what happened in the black cells, avoided going down there if possible. But once this was over, she would give this woman to him and she would never have to think on her again.

_If Jaime continues to defy me, maybe I should make him listen to the screams. That’s what father would do if someone disobeyed him like this…he wouldn’t have tolerated this foolishness._

Jaime had scarce been back to the Keep since the day he had learnt of Lady Brienne’s ‘demise’. Instead her guards informed her he’d chosen to spend days on his knees shivering in the Sept, refusing to be outed by septons and Kingsguard alike. But the High Septon would not order him to leave, in spite of her insistence. How tiresome- first Lancel, now Jaime - was she doomed to be surrounded by those who turned to piety?

He was making an utter fool out of himself and she had indulged it long enough.

When she left the creature’s cell, Cersei went to her chambers and dressed herself in simple peasants clothing. It was unpleasant to put aside her brocades for the drab unflattering wool but necessary so as not to cause any attention to be drawn to her on her little errand. Once she was suitably attired she stole away to the Sept.  

There, as she’d been informed, was Jaime on his knees before the Warrior, head bowed so low his forehead was nearly touching the worn stone. The light from the high windows lit his armour, making him shine in the morning light. Before him were the twisted remains of the armour she had sent Ser Osmund to give him the night of Lady Brienne's capture.

_I should just have destroyed it, then maybe he would have seen sense rather than turning that grotesque woman into some sort of martyr._

Her footsteps rang out as she made her way over to him, sinking reluctantly down to her knees on the stone step beside him. To stand would only look curious, draw attention.

She drew back her cloak just far enough that he could see her face. There was a spark of recognition in his eyes but that was all… he did not greet her, only dropped his gaze back to the stone.

“You need not stand vigil for some minor Lord’s daughter, one beholden to the Baratheon’s as well… people will talk.”

“Let them.”

He was unshaven, his eyes puffy from lack of sleep, displeasing to look at.  Gods above, what was his obsession with that great cow of a woman. Really she thought he would’ve been glad to be rid of her.

“This is utterly foolish…please do tell me of the reason for your great infatuation, brother, as I always found her to be a bore.”

He looked up at her sharply.

“I was not aware you knew her.”

It had been a mistake, of course she hadn’t spoken with Lady Brienne before her capture.

“I talked with her a little when she was here before, enough to know she was of no interest.”

Jaime stared at her for a long moment, eyes narrowed but then he turned his back to her, dismissively. It rankled her to be treated so.

“I will stay awhile longer.”

 

Something was wrong with this.

Jaime watched his sister gain her feet, giving up her pretence at piety. She was visibly angry as she left, her perfect face flushed an angry red.

Still kneeling in the dismally cold Sept, Jaime took the time afforded to him by his ‘prayer’ and turned it over and over in his head, worrying at it like a loose tooth. What was it about this whole situation that unnerved him so?  People died all the time, warriors died even more often.  Yet…

It seemed strange to him that they had even learnt of Brienne’s death.  Shouldn’t she be mouldering in a ditch somewhere with the armour stolen? Why had they brought Oathkeeper back? The sword was worth more than any bandit was likely to see in his lifetime but Cersei had said nothing of having to pay a reward for it to be returned. How would they have known who it belonged to anyway? It was a new sword, visibly Valayrian steel but the smallfolk would not be like to know it was a Lannister one.

He remembered suddenly his sisters face when someone had mentioned Brienne once before in her presence, some lady or other gently teasing him about the rumours of torrid romance that seemed to have sprung up from nowhere. He’d denied it of course, there were no truth in them but the glance his sister had given him was sharp. And she had spoken of knowing her, when he was certain that they had not had occasion to speak after Brienne had returned him to King’s Landing.

No, she wouldn’t have…

Cersei could be petty, it was true, but she would not have concerned herself with Brienne. Maybe once she would have, but now it seemed they were drifting further away from each other, sometimes it seemed she despised him.

In truth he doubted she cared enough for him now to even concern herself with a rumoured lover.

_…she’s been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and Moon Boy …_

Tyrion’s voice taunted him ceaselessly. He wanted her still, of course he did, he was moved to weakness by just how much sometimes, but he couldn’t. Every time Jaime looked at his sister so he heard his murderous little brother’s voice in his head.

It would not leave his mind as he knelt there, shivering, knees aching and back protesting.  He had not lain with Brienne but if Cersei had betrayed him so, why would she believe that he had not done the same?


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

Brienne pulled her hair back as best she could into a brittle braid, the length of it aggravating her. It had always grown fast but in the past she would slice it off with a knife or shears before it became long enough to trouble her. But of course, now she was a prisoner, they were not likely to allow her either.

Securing it with a thread she had pulled from the loose patch on her tunic, Brienne leant back against the wall shivering a little at the feeling of the cold rough stone against her skin. The small slit window was above her head, letting in a thin sliver of daylight. If the small marks she had been scratching into the wood of the door were to be believed she had been here two months and already she was growing listless, hopeless. The days and nights blurred into one, without any activity to mark them. More often than not she paced her cell, merely to feel her legs moving, to try and off-set the weakness captivity had already begun to cause. How long would they keep her here? Until the Queen tired of baiting her? Or would they just let her waste away until she simply didn’t awake one morning?

She pressed herself as close to the narrow window as she could get, to feel the faintest suggestion of the cold fresh air on her skin.

 

Lady Merryweather was smiling at her in the glass as they prepared for bed, drawing a brush almost reverently through Cersei’s long golden hair. She liked to have Taena assist her in her nightly routine, the other woman was more gentle and attentive than any of her maids.

“I hear your brother is mourning the loss of his great love, a lady knight. Lady Margaery and her cousins quite sigh over the tragic romance of it all, her Blue Bard is composing a song on the subject as we speak.”

How tiresome. Well soon enough the Blue Bard would be composing no songs, save those he would sing to Qyburn of Margaery’s infidelities. She had already set Ser Osney to seduce the little queen but so far he had been unsuccessful. It did not matter really for when it came his turn to sing, the song would be one of her creation. The man was desperate to have her again, would help rid her of Lady Margaery then make his way to the Wall and dispose of that arrogant Stark bastard who was controlling the Night’s Watch. And after that…well if he was still of use to her she was sure she could bear his unskilled groping in exchange for him being hers to command.

“I’m sure I shall be thrilled to hear this song of the Blue Bard’s once it’s completed. Though the rumours greatly overstate my brothers affection for the woman, they were little more than travelling companions. It is only his great honour that compels him to formally mourn her. She was a rather unfortunate looking creature, I’m afraid.”

The Myrish woman busied herself braiding Cersei’s long golden hair. Her dark eyes seemed a little wistful as she answered,

“Isn’t that the dream? To be loved for who we are, not how we appear?”

Her brother did not love the sainted Maid of Tarth, he idolised her foolish notions of knighthood and honour to the point of idiocy but he did not love her.

“The dream of those without beauty, perhaps.”

Taena leant forward then wrapping her arms familiarly around her waist, their eyes meeting in the glass, a slow smile curling her lips.

“Something with which you have no familiarity of course, your grace.”

Cersei reached up a hand to touch her own skin, admiring the way it almost seemed to glow in the soft candlelight and let a small smile curve her mouth. Briefly she wondered if Lady Brienne had ever been able stand to look in her own glass, if she’d wanted to cry every time that monstrosity of a face greeted her. It was a pity she couldn’t have one sent up there really, but the woman might smash it and use the shards on herself or the guards.

No, Brienne knew how she appeared and that was enough. She had to know no man would ever look at her with anything other than disgust or, at the most, pity in his eyes.

Cersei leant back, reaching to tangle her hand in Taena’s where it rested on her hip, enjoying the contrast of the other woman’s olive skin with her own milky white reflected in the glass.

“Of course not.”

 

The cell room smelt of stale sweat and an oddly pervasive damp rotting smell that might have been the straw. Cersei wrinkled up her nose in disgust wishing she had thought to bring a scented handkerchief with her to shield her from the odours. Clearly Lady Brienne had taken to living like the sow she was.

There were bruise coloured shadows appearing under her eyes from lack of sleep and her thin straw coloured hair was escaping from it’s braid to hang limp about her face. It was still not the red-eyed sobbing she had been hoping for but it was better than nothing.

The woman had climbed to her feet when they’d entered, standing awkwardly once again in the centre of the room. Cersei walked straight up to her, becoming ever more confident that the Lady Brienne would not have the nerve to strike her. She was as cowardly as she was stupid.

“You should hear what they say of you and my brother.”

The other woman’s stare was blank, uncomprehending.

“Lying with a member of the Kingsguard when they are sworn to be celibate, to protect the King…it’s practically treason.”

For a moment, she merely continued to look puzzled, her forehead creased in a dull confusion. Then horrified realisation dawned in her eyes.

“I-I didn’t, we didn’t…”

The poor thing was tripping over her own words, scarlet faced. _No, of course you didn’t,_ thought Cersei with disgust. _As if Jaime would ever sully himself by touching the likes of you, he’d sooner gnaw his other hand off… no, you were probably a nuisance to him and he got rid of you quickly enough, dispatching you on a fool's quest certain to lead to your death._

But why did he mourn her so, if that were true?

“My poor brother could hang if word of this treachery gets about. I keep you here for his own protection, really it would be better were I to kill you but I fear I am too soft-hearted…”

“I’ll swear it,” the woman said earnestly, grasping at the perceived escape route “I’ll swear before anyone, it isn’t true. I wouldn’t let any harm come to Jaime because of me.”

The devotion would have been touching if it weren’t so sickening.  Idiot girl, her brother had pitied her enough to bestow a few smiles on her and she was ready to do anything for him.

_I once had someone who was willing to do anything I asked of him, and you took him away._

“It’s not enough, such a great treachery might never be forgiven.”

The hope that had dawned on her face faded.

“You mean to keep me here then.”

Cersei  shrugged one delicate shoulder. _Of course I do, you simpleton, you think I would just let you go so you could run crying to Jaime?_

“For now.”

 

When Brienne practised in the tiny space of her tower cell, in her mind she fought with Jaime. Jaime as he had been the first and last time they fought, strong and whole. Every thrust with her imagined sword was met with a parry from his…she could almost hear the clash of steel on steel, hear Jaime’s laughing comments in her mind, hear him mocking her for becoming weak. And it was true, her strength waned the longer she was here. She pushed hard, cursing the lack of resistance, the lack of strain in her muscles. If only they’d give her a tourney sword, a wooden stick, something. She’d still have no opponent of course but it would be better…this was a poor imitation of a proper fight.

_“Come, wench, captivity has made you soft! You could not defeat a squire like this!”_

She stepped back, nearly hitting her shoulder on the wall avoiding an imagined thrust and then she stepped forward, parried. As she moved in for what would be the killing blow it was not Jaime’s face she saw but the Queen’s.

_I will not be made weak._

Jaime was in the accursed Sept again, neglecting his Kingsguard duties in favour of spending most of his time with his head bowed before that wretched armour. Now that he was a cripple was there nothing else he could do?

This time Cersei did not bother to disguise herself, instead she swept into the hall garbed in her finest gown, drawing looks from the smallfolk and septons alike. Let them stare, let them see the Queen in all her glory. Getting there had been frustrating though, having to make her way through the crowds of Sparrows that had gathered on the plaza. Cersei decided that after she talked with Jaime she would see the new High Septon and demand that he do something about the tide of filthy miscreants that seemed to be flowing into the city.

She had decided that she needed Jaime gone, somewhere where he could not stare at her with that flat accusing gaze he wore so often of late. Somewhere people would no longer whisper sympathetically about the Lord Commander and his broken heart. Idiots, before this they had all been the ones to dismiss him as the ‘Kingslayer’, to call him vile and treasonous. Now the whole court looked at him with pity, sighing to each other about how tragic it was for him to lose this ‘great love’ of his. She had even heard praise from several corners for Lady Brienne’s supposed ‘fine eyes’ and ‘regal bearing’. Before long there would be songs all over the city, twisting it into something it wasn’t.

None of those would be sung by the Blue Bard though, even now he was giving detailed confession to Qyburn of the little queen’s numerous dalliances with knights and members of court. Before long she would rid herself of one doe-eyed nuisance and then the second could follow.

This time when she found Jaime she did not kneel, instead she kept her feet until he reluctantly gained his own. The statue towered above them, her sanctimonious face staring down them.

“The Maiden? Are you praying for your virtue, brother? A bit late surely.”

“Sweet sister, what pressing business brings you to the Sept?”

She handed him a scroll, waiting until he reached out to take it.

“King Tommen needs you in the West.”

Jaime looked at her with narrow eyes, a slight unkind smile on his lips. The beard made his mouth look cruel she decided, unpleasant. Perhaps when he returned she would make it law that members of the Kingsguard were required to be clean-shaven.

“This is not Tommen’s doing.”

“His enemies need to be defeated. I need to you to end the siege and bring me Brynden Tully or kill him, I don’t really care which it is so long as he is no longer a problem. I trust no one but you to do this dear brother.”

“Something no one but a grieving cripple might accomplish? Doubtful. There are a dozen men who might accomplish this… my place is in the city, at Tommen’s side. Not gallivanting about the countryside.  One might almost think you _wanted_ me gone, my dear sister.”

“You would ignore an order from the King?”

He straightened fully, wincing a little. You’re growing older brother, she thought, older and more thoughtless by the day.

“No, I would not.”

Jaime walked past her, the scroll clenched in his fist.

A single, solitary candle was left behind fluttering at the Maiden’s alter. Cersei watched it flicker a moment before deftly snuffing it out.

How had she ever loved such a fool?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should thank snowfright for betaing this for me! Especially at ridiculously short notice for the first chapter :)


	4. Chapter 4

Cersei dreamt she was in the cell room.

The room was dark, shadowed much as it was in life but there was a strange wavering light that lit her skin in shades of green. It was cold, freezing in fact and she shivered, wrapping her arms tightly about herself.

Lady Brienne stood opposite her, tall and eerily calm, her eyes two emotionless pools of blue. She was dressed not in the breeches and shirt that she normally wore but in a blue dress…one that looked somehow familiar.

“It’s called Oathkeeper.”

The woman straightened her arm displaying the sword which gleamed brightly even in the darkness. She knew its name of course, the fool had apparently cried out for it when she was captured. It was Jaime’s sword really; father had given it to him not this witless giant of a woman.  She also knew it couldn’t be here…it was mouldering in the sept along with her armour.

Cersei looked down at herself and realised she was wearing a dress as well… an elaborate ivory gown,  like her wedding dress, the fabric heavy and confining but… no her father was dead, she would never have to marry again. She fisted her hands in the fabric, wanting to rip it off.

The room had changed around them, there was water around her feet now, trickling into her shoes…Cersei could smell the damp all about her. The walls were covered in green moss and when she placed a hand against one of them to steady herself it was immediately coated in the cold, clinging slime. High, high above them there was a small circle of light. As she looked up a small golden head peered over, a child…a little girl. But then she blinked, the figure changed and suddenly it was Jaime who peered down at them, a frown on his face.

“You can’t kill me,” the other woman went on softly. The water caught Brienne’s dress, pulling it out around her as light as air. It seemed paler now, almost white, far brighter than her own yellowing ivory.  Then Jaime was beside the other woman, arms cradling her gently.

“I wasn’t…” but when Cersei looked back down her hands the slime coating them was no longer green but red. It was not moss at all but strands of gore. Her fingernails were caked in it, her dress stained.

But where was it coming from? The blood was everywhere, streaking her arms and her torso and she realised the dampness around her legs was not water…

The other woman took Jaime’s arm, allowing him to pull her effortlessly up, dress unblemished despite the rising tide.

“No, Jaime… you can’t leave me here!”

She grabbed for them but only succeeded in stumbling on her own dress, falling until the blood sloshed over her head, getting in her eyes, her nose, making it difficult to breathe….

 

Cersei woke suddenly, aware of someone in her room, someone watching her. For a moment her heart beat hard in her chest and she almost screamed for the guards until she focused properly on the black figure.

“Jaime!”

For a second she thought she was still dreaming.

He was sitting on a chair pulled up to her bedside, staring. In this half-light she could almost have taken him for a much older man, the moonlight turning his golden hair to silver. That wretched beard didn’t help, making him look unkempt and rough, more like a common sell-sword than a knight of the Kingsguard.

“Where is my bed maid?”

Dorcas had been with her when she fell to sleep she was positive of it but the other half of the bed was empty now, rapidly cooling. It made her feel uneasy to be here alone with him, after that dream.

 _Do not be a fool, this is Jaime_. It was merely the Dornish Red she had consumed before bed causing the dreams, the sourness of the wine never had agreed with her.

“I sent her away, I told her I had important things to discuss with the Queen before I left for Riverrun. Things that could not wait.”

Jaime was dressed in his Lannister armour rather than his Kingsguard regalia. The red and black plate allowed him to blend further back into the shadows of her room until all that was visibly was his drawn, waxy face.

“Did you kill her?” He asked.

His remaining hand was on his sword hilt, she saw now. It was the same sword Lady Brienne had worn.

_I should have screamed…_

“I don’t know what you’re-“

“Did you _kill_ her.”

His eyes were burning, accusatory. Jaime had never looked at her that way before. She pulled herself further up against her pillow.

“If you’re talking of the Tarth girl then how could I? She died at the hands of outlaws, in the Riverlands. I hardly even laid eyes upon her.”

He stared at her, gaze never wavering. For one moment she feared he would see everything in her face.

“You must have lost your mind along with your hand, brother…I did not kill your wretched whore.”

Cersei let the sincerity ring through in her voice along with the condemnation. It was true of course, Lady Brienne lived even now by her mercy.

“Don’t speak of her like that. You know nothing of her.”

_I know more of her than you think brother, I know she is a lack-wit and that I would get better conversation from your horse. I know she is so ugly that if you had put the Hound in a gown he would look more pleasing. I would never have believed your taste so poor…_

“If I were ever to discover that you had a hand in her death…”

“You’d what?” She laughed “Do you think to scare me, Jaime?”

“I am going to the Riverlands, I will end your siege and then I will bring back Brienne’s body. And I will inter it at Casterly Rock.”

Rage flared in her chest and it took all she had not to stand up and strike him. She’d struck him before and he’d offered little resistance but somehow she thought this time he might just strike her back.

_He thinks to lay that monster to rest beside our lady mother? Beside our ancestors? How **dare** he._

“You don’t think her lord father might prefer his daughter to be put to rest in her own hold? Rather than that of some…acquaintance? She was not your _wife_ , my dear brother, you can have no say as to where she rests.”

He looked up and Cersei caught the look in his eyes even despite the dim light of her bedchamber.

Her brother loved the creature.

It was writ clear across his face, burning behind his eyes. Ugly, misshapen and mannish as she was, he loved her.

_No, no Jaime is mine._

 

There was no guard on the door when she reached it, gasping and out of breath. That would have to be rectified, this woman needed to be watched night and day. Jaime must never know, he must never find her. It didn’t matter that it was unguarded now though, she had summoned Ser Osmund to accompany her. The woman wouldn’t harm her with him at her side.

“Open the door.”

He fumbled with the lock in the candlelight and when he finally got the unwieldy oak door to move Cersei pushed unceremoniously past him.

The creature blinked sleepily in the sudden light, slowly rising from her pallet.

“What-“

Cersei reached out and struck her hard across the face. Her jaw was as solid as a man’s and more unyielding than Jaime’s had ever been.

The other woman recoiled, more out of shock than anything. Her back connected with the wall and she stayed there, staring across with confusion writ large on her face. The skin on her mouth was ripped where one of the rings had caught it, a slow trickle of blood making its way down her chin.

_What a simpleton._

It was almost a shame she was not pretty, Cersei would have enjoyed taking that away from her, destroying it slowly with her fists and nails and then maybe a knife… carving it away. But there was no point, she could not make her any uglier than she already was.

Part of her wanted to ask this vile creature if her brother had stooped so low as to spill his seed in her. Her denials before had convinced her but Jaime’s face in her bedchamber spoke of another story…

_He fucked her. He fucked her behind my back, probably laughing at me the whole time. Even Robert hid his whores better than you do brother, you could not be more obvious if you shouted it from the top of the Keep. Did he make this monstrosity gasp and moan in the same way that he used to make me? Did he use his mouth to bring her to completion, kiss her meagre breasts, thrust into her in that same desperate rhythm that spoke of his need?_

She wanted to scream at her for taking her brother away from her, to strike her again, to take Ser Osmunds sword from him and use all her strength to ram it into her chest, to knock the candle to the floor and set her straw aflame.

But that would show too much, for now she would have to put on a face, she would not let Lady Brienne know that she was aware of the vile deception that the beast and Jaime had cooked up. After-all if they could conduct an affair beneath her nose, what else had they been plotting?  He had sent the creature to retrieve Sansa Stark, she had suspected then that it could have been a plot against her but part of her had refused to believe Jaime could deceive her so. But now could there be any denying it?

Brienne’s gaze was as naïve and guileless as a child’s, but such a look could be deceiving. After all Margaery looked as pure and innocent as her roses and yet she was always plotting with her father and vile grandmother.

A thought came to her… the Tarth’s were Baratheon bannermen and the Tyrell’s had allied with Renly before his death. Could this woman be in liege with the Tyrell’s to turn Jaime against her?  Involve him in some foul plot to give the North back to what remained of the Starks?

Yes, it all made sense now, this had the smell of Roses’ all over it.

_I thought you just wanted to take my brother but it is clear you wish to take my crown as well._


	5. Chapter 5

Her late night excursion had left her tired and Cersei found that even before the sun had fairly risen, her head was already drooping.

She sent a guard to summon Qyburn to her and sent her maid to fetch more wine. It was early in the day, true, but last night had left her with a sore head she was sure little else would cure. A little wine in the morning could be good for such ailments, she had heard.

Jaime had ridden out a few hours ago at least and there was no danger of him discovering Lady Brienne. She had decided to take no chances with the key anyway, and now kept it on her person at all times. Whenever she felt anxious that her brother might find his beast she would simply reach down and squeeze the cold metal, assuring herself there was no way he could get to her.

Qyburn appeared, bowing respectfully and taking the seat opposite her.

“You summoned me, your Grace?”

Cersei poured herself another cup of wine to ease the dryness in her throat. Earlier she had spoken with Ser Osney Kettleblack, and had sent him to the Sept to ‘confess’ to the septon. With his confession, and that of the Blue Bard, the noose around Margaery’s pretty little neck would be growing every tighter. And now that Qyburn was finished with the Blue Bard, she had other tasks for him…

“I have a certain prisoner…the Maid of Tarth.”

He nodded, seemingly unconcerned. She knew he’d travelled with Jaime and the woman on his way here so a small part of her had been worried he would have qualms but as usual Lord Qyburn had not failed her.

“You believe she has been plotting against you?”

Soon all those who would work against her would neatly perish, but it was such a lot of effort.

“I don’t want her to die,” she explained to the little man calmly “I just want her to confess.”

If Jaime had betrayed her, she needed to know… she needed to be sure.

Qyburn smiled sympathetically,

“I think your Grace will find that that I can be most persuasive. And my work has allowed me to conduct many studies on keeping people alive.”

“Good, see to it that she does not die. She is still of use to me.”

Not for much longer though, Jaime would win Riverrun for her and then he would either come to heel or face the consequences. She could not afford to have another brother working against her, the last time had cost her firstborn son…what more could Jaime’s betrayal take from her?

 

For a moment, when her cell door had opened to admit not the Queen but two lone guards, Brienne had allowed herself to be hopeful. They had decided to let her go, or at the very least to give her a fair trial. No jury in the land would look upon her and believe Ser Jaime had broken his vows to bed her, she was sure of that. _His honour and my own will be proven._

But the guards turned down a long stairway, marching her down and down until she wondered how far beneath the Keep they could possibly get.

On the long walk Brienne stared hard at the back of the guard in front of her, wondering if she could outfight him. Certainly it would be possible to shove him down the narrow stair, his heavy armour would mean he would fall easily and it could be that, even with her hands chained before her, she could gain his sword. Ser Jaime had his own hands chained when they had fought and had nearly been a match for her, it was possible to fight thusly.

But these men had not truly wronged her…they were merely guards, carrying out the orders of their Queen. And if she bettered them, gained her freedom, where would she go? The Red Keep was heavily guarded, it was likely she would be recaptured almost at once and, even if she was not, she wouldn’t even know where to begin looking for Ser Jaime.

Her indecision meant the opportunity slipped away from her as they reached the bottom of the stairs and she was shoved unceremoniously through a low door, ducking so as to avoid striking her head on the frame.

The cell they lead her too was far warmer than her own thanks to the fire burning in the corner but there was a smell in the air that made her wary. It reminded her of something that she could not name. There were no windows so the fire made the air heavy with smoke, stinging her eyes until they were streaming and setting her coughing.

The two guards dragged her over to the wall and she pulled back, feeling a strangely savage joy in the fact she still had strength enough to resist. But eventually between them they forced her to stand flat against the wall, arms raised above her head. The iron manacles they fastened around her wrists were cold and heavy, pulled tight until they were stretching her arms so high above her they felt as if they would be ripped from their sockets at any moment.

She almost missed the dark stains on the floor, until she accidentally moved her bare foot forward onto a patch that had not quite dried yet. It came away cold, damp and red.

_Blood, it is blood._

Brienne recognised the little man who shuffled in, though the last she had seen of him he’d been garbed in rags rather than the fine white cloth he wore now. Qyburn, he’d been the one who’d seen to Ser Jaime’s arm after his wound had become infected…but he was a healer surely?

There was a knife in his hands, the sharpened blade reflecting the firelight.

“You know me,” she said as calmly as she could manage “From Harrenhal, please…if you would only tell Ser Jaime where I am…”

Qyburn looked up at her, face creased in what looked like regret but it failed to reach his eyes “I apologise but I am under the Queen’s commands.”

The knife moved methodically, slicing her clothes from her. Shirt and breeches fell in tatters to the ground, soon followed by her small clothes much to her horror. The cool air of the chamber hit her skin, making her cringe even more than she already was.

“I am sorry,” the old man said, face contrite “The Queen merely wants to know of the plots that you and her brother concocted. If you can tell me of them then I will only hurt you a little, for show.”

The wall was cold and rough against her back, scratching at her bare skin.

“We never- there are no plots, I swear it!”

How could the Queen doubt Jaime’s loyalty? She could understand they might suspect her because of her past allegiances but… Jaime had been nothing but honourable and utterly devoted to his sister and family, to think that he might plot against them was madness!

It became suddenly, horribly clear then. Brienne didn’t know for what reason they wanted him to fall from grace but she also knew that Jaime would never plot against his family. So they intended to use her as Ser Jaime’s downfall, they intended her to implicate him in a treasonous plot that did not exist.

No. No, she would die before that.

 

As she made her way to the Black Cells, Cersei was in excellent spirits. Lady Margaery had just been seized and taken forcefully to the Sept where her crimes would no doubt be easily confirmed. And she had little doubt of Qyburn’s ability to procure equal truths from Lady Brienne.

However when she arrived there, she was only met with excuses.

“She insists there was no plot, your Grace.”

So the beast still sought to protect her foolish brother, out of some misguided sense of loyalty no doubt.

“Lies, obviously.”

“Yes, indeed. Do not fear, we shall have the truth from her before long.”

Qyburn gestured for her to follow him into the cell.

Lady Brienne was even more repulsive unclothed, her form obscenely muscled even despite her confinement.  Her breasts were almost non-existent, the curve at her waist shallow and unwomanly. She clenched her thighs together, cringing and trying to twist herself away from sight, obviously aware of her own hideousness.  

Had her brother been blind or desperate when he’d rutted with this beast?

Qyburn had already begun his work and long cuts marred the fronts of her thighs and the underside of her breasts. The blood stood out starkly red against her pale skin, dripping down in some places to pool on the floor.

Brienne shied away as far as she could when Qyburn walked back over to her but he only laid a quieting hand on her shoulder, calming her.

“You and the Lord Commander plotted to raise Sansa Stark to power in the North, did you not?”

He drew the knife along the underside of her arm, blood swelling where it passed. The woman screwed up her ugly face but shook her head fervently.

“No, Jaime only asked me to find her and keep her safe. To keep his promise to Lady Stark!”

Jaime…it rankled to hear her address him so familiarly. She could remember Melara calling him Jaime as well, in a similar fond tone of voice. They’d only been children of course, she and Jaime had barely been ten with Melara only a little older but… even then Cersei had possessed a talent for spotting those who would betray her.

Melara had wanted to take Jaime for her own. Given another few years she would have drawn him away, slowly frayed the bond he shared with his sister.

Brienne was ugly where Melara had been pretty, broad where her friend had been rake thin but they both had the same freckled skin and blue eyes. The same eyes…a bright clear blue, innocent-seeming…

Melara’s death hadn’t been her fault. It had been a tragic accident, one that would never have occurred if the little idiot hadn’t meant to try and take Jaime.

_The same is true of this one, had she not conspired to take Jaime and turn him against me none of this would have happened._

Qyburn pulled an iron from the fire, gesturing to the guards to come forward.

“If you would be so kind as to raise her foot for me?”

The colour drained from Lady Brienne’s face as he got nearer.

“You still insist you and the Lord Commander were not plotting against the Queen?”

She hesitated, eyes fixed on the glowing metal in his hand, but then she thinned her lips in determination and nodded.

“Yes. Ser Jaime would never betray his family.”

“That is a pity.”

He pressed the hot metal into the arch of her foot. The smell was sudden and overwhelming, acrid and a little like cooking meat. Brienne clamped her mouth shut, refusing to scream but she pulled so hard against the manacles her muscles bulged, the cords in her neck standing out as she threw her head back so hard it cracked into the stone wall behind her.

Cersei refused to look away, refused to even cover her mouth. She would not show weakness in front of this creature.

Lady Brienne had brought this upon herself.


	6. Chapter 6

The smell would not leave her gown.

Cersei had sent it to her washerwomen as soon as she’d returned from the Black Cells but, when they’d returned it, she fancied she could still smell a whiff of the disgusting acrid scent on it. It could be that the dress was unsalvageable and would have to be destroyed but it would irk her to do it. The gown was one she was particularly fond of.

Lady Brienne had screamed eventually, screamed long and loud and desperately… but she had never admitted to the plots. Really, it was just more proof of what a simpleton she was, they knew of the plots so all she needed to do was confirm them. But all she’d done instead was tell them over and over in a feeble, wavering voice that Jaime had only asked her to keep the Stark girl safe.

Jaime at least was on his way to the Riverlands. He would no longer be around to indulge Tommen’s nonsense and to spend his days moping about.  Still, maybe it would be prudent to get rid of Lady Brienne before he returned, lest he become too suspicious. She had thought that the woman could be leverage but with each day that passed of her being under Qyburn’s care, the less likely it became that she could ever let Jaime know she had the creature.  No, it was probably better to simply dispose of her.

A guard knocked hesitantly on the door, drawing her attention.

“Lord Selwyn Tarth requests an audience, your Grace. He is most insistent that you see him.”

Some relative of the beast, come to plead for her armour no doubt. Well, let them take it and throw it in the Narrow Sea for all she cared. Maybe once it was gone Jaime would finally stop sulking.

“Who?”

“His daughter is Lady Brienne of Tarth, she was a companion of the Lord Commanders’.”

The way he said ‘companion’ seemed a great deal too knowing for her tastes. Did the whole Kingdom know of her brothers perversions?

“I am far too busy to deal with all and any minor lords that come calling. His daughter’s armour is in the Sept, take him there and tell him he is welcome to it.”

“The Lord Commander gave orders that-“

 _Do they listen to Jaime rather than me even when he is gone?_ She thought angrily. That would not happen had she been born a man, no one would have questioned her then.

“I am your _Queen_ , and I don’t want it cluttering up the Sept anymore. Give him his daughter’s armour and tell him to go away. I have to go visit our poor Lady Margaery, I do not need these inconsequential matters brought to me when my Good-daughter is accused of such terrible things.”

It was the truth, she indeed needed to go and visit Margaery in her little cell in the Sept this afternoon, to delay her visit any longer would look suspicious. Both of those who would usurp her were locked away and soon both would be dead. And once again she would be safe.

 

When he had left King’s Landing, Jaime had been almost surprised at the amount of people who turned up to line the streets for his departure. True, it was nothing compared to the throng that had crowded the streets for Mace Tyrell’s but that was no surprise. His family had always been little liked in King’s Landing and Cersei was doing her very best to extinguish any good feeling that was left… they did not hold the people’s hearts in the same way the Tyrell’s did. He was not sorry to see the back of the place, if he were honest with himself.

Still the story of Brienne’s death had made its way round King’s Landing, obviously much changed in the retelling… and now apparently he was some kind of tragic hero, the kind people waved and cheered for.

Truth be told, he would’ve taken empty streets and Brienne’s ugly face by his side any day.

His final vigil for her had ended the night before he left. Days spent in the Sept had given him no absolution from the crushing guilt of Brienne’s death, only sore knees and a tendency to sneeze. The gods hadn’t listened, any more than they’d listened to him as a boy. But it was a space removed from the court, removed from all that was controlled by his sister. A space to think, a space to decide for himself what to do. Time to grow more and more certain that he knew the reason for Brienne’s death.

His visit to Cersei’s bedchamber had been pure madness. It had accomplished nothing other than to make his dear sister wary of him.

And now he was returning to Harrenhal on his way to Riverrun, a cruelty on Cersei’s part surely, to make him come to a place that held so many memories.

Ser Bonifer, the man Cersei had chosen to hold this wretched place, seemed to view him as something of a kindred spirit, thanks to his worthless vigil in the Sept. The other man seemed to hold him up as a model of redemption, a reformed soul who had held vigil before the Seven and come out washed of his previous sins.

If anything Jaime felt his sins weighing on him more heavily than before. _It was because of my sins Brienne died._

When he left Ser Bonifer’s company, grateful to get away from the man’s cloying sanctimony, his feet walked him almost without permission in the direction of the Bear Pit. The cold was bitter but it was better than the stifling heat of the main hall. During his vigil he had become used to the cold, almost welcomed the bite of it.

His limbs seemed to grow heavier as he approached but he couldn’t make himself turn back. There was a ghostly light flickering in the pit and for a moment his heart stuttered foolishly in his chest.

But of course it wasn’t her.

The bear was still there, only bones and a few ragged bits of fur now…unburied, unmourned. Would Brienne be like this when he finally found her? Nothing but a pile of bleached bones and scraps of fabric?

And there, staring at the carcass of the bear, was Ser Ronnet Connington. Jaime could only vaguely recall the man being part of his company, he had not paid overly close attention to whom his sister had sent with him on this little quest.

“Are you lost?”

Irritation forbad him from saying more, he had come here for solitude and to find another already here was an annoyance.

Red Ronnet raised his lantern. “Ser, I merely wished to see where the bear danced with the maiden not-so-fair…is it true the wench fought naked?”

Anger prickled at him but he brushed it away. Of course tales were likely to get embellished, her death had been woven into a far-reaching tale of unrequited romance so why shouldn’t her life be turned into something equally fanciful?

“No.”

“Probably for the best, the sight of Brienne naked would have made the bear flee in terror.” Connington laughed, amused by his own jest. Jaime’s eyes hardened, the phantom fingers of his missing hand feeling like they were flexing, as if longing for a sword hilt.

“You speak as if you knew my lady.”

“Once we were betrothed.”

Jaime blinked, uncertain for a moment if he’d heard correctly. Surely Brienne would have mentioned a betrothal to him?

“I was her second betrothal, truth be told. It was my father’s notion. I had heard the wench was ugly, and I told him so, but he said all women were the same once you blew the candle out.”

“How is it that you did not wed her?” Jaime asked him, wondering why the answer seemed so very important to him. Brienne was dead, had taken her honour to the grave, she would be honouring no betrothals now.

“Why, I went to Tarth and I saw her.”

Ronnet glanced up at him, obviously reading something in the stoniness of his face.

“The rumours say that she was your lover but before long they’ll also say she was pretty. People like a good story better than the truth.”

The man gave him a conspiratorial grin but Jaime didn’t return it.

“And what’s the truth?”

“That the bear was more comely than that freak, I’ll-“

Jaime struck out with his golden hand and heard the crunch of bone, felt the shock of the blow up his arm. A vicious satisfaction surged through him. Ronnet stumbled backward, losing his footing and ending in a pile on the floor. His lantern crashed down beside him, pools of burning oil illuminating his shocked face.

“Do not speak of her. _You_ do not speak of her ever again.”

On a whim he lashed out with his right foot, catching the fallen man in the ribs, nearly rolling him backwards into the oil.

The rage made the guilt subside briefly and Jaime clenched his remaining fist against the urge to strike out again. If he gave in, he would not stop and his reputation could not bear the weight of another noble murder.

“If I hear you so much as mention her name, I will cut your tongue from your mouth, do you understand?”

Connington spat bloodily to the side and glared up at him.

“Yes, _Ser_.”

 

After, when the septas had seized her during her visit to Margaery and confined her to a cell of her own, accusing her of murder, treason, and fornication, Cersei had almost wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. _Perhaps my brothers foolish prayers did not go unheeded after all, perhaps this is how the Gods punish me for making his precious Maid scream and cry._ Now the High Septon had locked her away in a tower with little food and little covering. She had ripped up the shift they gave her in a fit of anger, refusing to wear something so demeaning but now the temperature had begun to cool she was regretting that action a little. But, unlike the Lady Brienne, she would not submit to this so docilely.

She was the _Queen_.

And, unlike her precious captive, Cersei could let Jaime know of her peril. Qyburn, her only visitor, had been entreated to write to her brother, to plead with him to come back and to save her. For all his mistrust of her lately Jaime still loved her… would still die for her if necessary.

_He might love that great, hulking ogre in the high tower but he loves me more and he has loved me longest. Jaime will come for me and he will save me._

They had taken the beast’s cell key from her when they’d stripped her of her clothes. No doubt they had destroyed it along with all her other possessions.

She laughed then, long and loud, unable to help the sounds bubbling hysterically from her lips. At least this way the creature would still die… when they had taken her back to her cell she had been bruised, blackened and bloodied. Even if her untreated wounds did not kill her then there would be no one to bring her food or water, even if anyone thought to they would not be able to open the door.

It was not the neat merciful death she had intended for her, true, but it was a death none the less. When Jaime returned to the city, to rescue her from this wretched place, Cersei would make sure her first act as a free woman would be to have Lady Brienne’s body was disposed of quietly and discreetly. Her brother need never know, she would spare him having to deal with his grief a second time.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Confess, they urged her constantly, confess.

Qyburn had said the same to Lady Brienne but she had remained stubborn, mute. _I shall do the same_ , thought Cersei as she bowed her head as if in prayer. _If that sow could remain quiet in the face of questioning then she could too._

Would the woman be dead yet?

It was the thought that most often occupied her mind, when she was staring unseeing at the pages of the Holy books they would give her to read or like now, kneeling seemingly in prayer while the Septa’s watched on with their piercing eyes.

Sometimes she hoped the simpleton had simply died, at others Cersei prayed that the girl was still alive, dying by inches in her sealed tower. _If I must suffer then at least I may take solace in that she is suffering more greatly._

The days went by and still Jaime did not come. Had her own blood forsaken her so? Her brother who had sworn his undying love to her, who had pledged to lay down his life for hers in a heartbeat if necessary…was he now so far removed from her as to leave her here to rot in this cell?

No, no it wasn’t possible. Her letter must have gone astray in the Riverlands, elsewise Jaime would be here by now.

Cersei needed him to come, she needed him to free her for she could not stand to be left in this place much longer. A sheep or a cow might take well to confinement, bleating a little maybe but it was a docile, stupid creature at heart. She was a lioness, something it was monstrously cruel to keep so caged.

The nights were getting colder and her little cell was becoming almost icy. When the Septas would shake her awake to demand she confess her sins, she would lay after the chill biting into her skin in the dark and wonder what had happened to bring her this low.

 

The icy cold of the floor felt good against the inflamed soles of her feet and Brienne pressed them down tentatively, letting out a sigh of relief. The pain was gradually becoming more bearable but moving still brought a flare of fresh agony to her back and arms. She didn’t know how long she had drifted in between sleep and waking, burning from the fever brought on by her wounds but it felt as if it had been days. The hunger that was gnawing persistently at her belly would seem to suggest she was right. Did they think her dead? Had their plan been to kill her then leave her body here to rot?

_Maybe they’ve left me here to starve to death._

The tray they normally bought her food on was left abandoned by the door, seemingly unmoved since the morning they had dragged her from her cell. There were no footsteps on the stair, no key jangling in the lock…

The only sounds she could hear were the low wailing of the wind about the tower.

 

Darry was just as dreary as Harrenhal had been.  His cousin, given over to piety and sleeping in the sept apparently, had sequestered Jaime in his own chambers which might have been considered generous if the aforementioned room hadn’t been reduced to little more than a cell. Barely a comfort remained, so stripped was it.

Lancel had not greeted him personally, nor had he seen a sign of his Uncle Kevan.  Instead apparently the skinny little master had been left to do the honours, a rather disinterested welcome from one’s own blood. Perhaps he was seeking to avoid him, fearing that Jaime knew of the affair with Cersei.  If he did not fear him then surely he would have already appeared to bleat at him about the Gods, taking his vigil as an act of piety much as Ser Bonnifer had.

Neither of them understood it was penance, not piety.

Seating himself on the lumpy straw pallet that was masquerading as a bed, Jaime closed his eyes and wondered what the hell he was doing here.

He found himself longing for the cold and solitude of the Great Sept, the simplicity of being there alone with nothing but his thoughts. Perhaps that was what Lancel was seeking, locking himself away as he had.

It was foolish to come here, he should have gone directly to Riverrun. And yet…

If Cersei had lied to him, if Tyrion had spoken truth and she had lain with Lancel and Kettleblack, if that were true then what else might she be concealing?  If he could learn of any falsehoods Cersei had woven before from his cousin then perhaps he would move closer to the truth of Brienne’s death.

There was a commotion outside his room and Jaime stood, irritated. All he wished for was some quiet before he was forced to attend the feast no doubt being laid out in his honour.

Peck’s voice echoed up the stairs, sounding a little panicked before the door slammed, rebounding off the wall to emit a man he’d never before laid his eyes on.

_Someone in the employ of my cousin perhaps? Maybe Lancel-_

That thought was abruptly cut off as the intruder seized hold his tunic and lifted him from the bed as if he were nothing more than a babe in arms, swinging him round until his back impacted painfully with the chamber wall.

My sword, he thought, automatically trying to reach for it with his phantom hand. But there was no sword at his waist and indeed no hand to grasp it with.

“Where’s my daughter!” the other man bellowed, his grip tightened to the point of discomfort “I know you have her, Lannister!”

So this was Brienne’s father. The first impression he got was of an irate mountain of a man, all lined face and dark hair striped with silver. There was little of his daughter in him, their faces as different as night and day, but for the height of the man he would not have thought the two related.

“Your daughter is dead.”

His words were harsher than he intended, laced with a self-loathing he had not meant to convey.

Behind him, armed King’s men had begun to pour into the room, their swords drawn. Hastily Jaime shook his head at them, not wanting to be responsible for the death of a second Tarth.

“Perhaps you should put me down, lest you join her on a misunderstanding.”

Slowly and begrudgingly the other man lowered him to the floor and took a step back. Jaime held up his hand to forestall any move on the part of his men, to attack a grief-stricken man would be cowardice.  And close to it was obvious that the Lord of Tarth had not slept in many days, his eyes red and bloodshot, a scrub of rough beard upon his cheeks.

“This boy…” Lord Selwyn hauled a skinny youth out from behind his impressive bulk, a vaguely familiar looking lad, someone he had seen around the court perhaps…a squire wasn’t he? There were so many of them it was difficult to keep them straight “…he says he was with my daughter when she was taken and he says it was on orders of the Crown. This has a lions stink all over it but when I went to King’s Landing they wouldn’t even see me, told me she was dead. Gave me some armour and told me to go home. But the lad says he followed them right up until the Gates and she was alive when she passed into the city.”

The boy looked terrified, eyes darting from Jaime to Selwyn and back again but he did not try and back away.

“Speak lad, tell him what you saw!”

“S-ser…my Lady…she’s alive, they took her alive. They said they’d been sent b-by the Queen.”

_Alive._

His mind stuck on that word and could not seem to move past it.

Brienne… alive.

Dimly he was aware of Lord Selwyn still talking to him, of the squire peering up at him, of the murmur of voices coming from his men in the doorway.

“What could the Queen want with my daughter?”

“Me,” he heard himself say as if from a long way away “Me, she did it because of me.”

 

The door bore the deep scratches where Brienne had clawed at it in a fit of desperation earlier, her fingers bloodied and bruised from the attempt. It had been foolish, she had simply exhausted herself and broken open the cuts on her hand. Now the trickles of blood were cooling on her skin and she lay on the cold floor resisting the urge to fall back into sleep again. The periods in which she was awake, truly awake, were becoming rarer and rarer.

Her throat felt paper-dry but she would not drink again, her water was nearly gone as it was. If she drank again then there would no more. Though however careful she was, it would not last more than another day.

Her breath steamed out in clouds from her mouth as she huddled under her single blanket.  Her fingers ached with cold, her stomach ached with hunger and the rest of her body burned with pain every time she tried to move.

She pulled the blanket around her tighter, wishing it was big enough to cover all of her large frame. Sleep was trying to drag her down with more insistence now but she feared it…it was a sleep from which she might never wake after-all.  

The room slowly span and her eyelids drooped.

In the grey world between wake and sleep she almost imagined she felt an arm around her, cradling her with the kind of tenderness no man had ever shown toward her. She felt the weight settle against her back, warming her.

Brienne didn’t turn but she knew who it was, who she wanted it to be.

_Jaime…_

If she opened her eyes she knew it would disappear so squeezed them shut so hard she saw flashes of light. _Let me pretend you’re here… for a little longer…_

“Jaime…” she whispered, voice cracked and faded from disuse “I failed you, I’m sorry…forgive me.”

Brienne imagined she could feel his hot breath on her cheek, the slight scrape of beard. But the apparition didn’t answer her and tears trickled slowly from the corners of her eyes to turn to ice on her cheeks.

 


	8. Chapter 8

On the thirteenth day of her confinement, Cersei had a visitor.

The septas had brought her another shift after she’d torn the first one in fit of rage and this time she had clothed herself in it, shaking as she was from the cold. It and the meagre blanket they allowed her did little to take the chill away though and most of her nights were spent shivering.

When they ushered in her guest she was eating the thin, watery gruel quietly and without outward complaint.

Her heart leapt when Jaime entered the room, grim and clad in his armour. Her letter had finally reached him and of course he’d come immediately, as soon as he’d learned of her plight. His eyes were red and bloodshot, it was obvious he’d ridden through the night to reach her.

_Of course he had, Jaime would not leave her in place such as this._

“You had Brienne taken. Where is she?”

His words were curt, utterly without sympathy, and for a moment she thought she must have heard wrongly.

He was not here to save her from this.

Would it do her any good to continue to deny ever laying eyes on that wretched woman, she wondered. There was a certainty in his eyes now that hadn’t been there when he’d left for Riverrun, somehow her brother had laid his hands upon some proof.

“Where is she?” he asked again,

“If she is dead? If I ordered her death myself before I came here?”

“I will kill you myself, sweet sister.”

“And if she is still alive?”

Jaime tensed, his hand on his sword, his eyes searching hers.

“If you’re lying to me...”

“She is safe.”

Maybe, maybe not. It had been two weeks since her imprisonment and the only key was gone, who knew where. And the creature had taken Qyburn’s persuasion hard. But she was all Cersei had to bargain with now…

“Be my champion, and I will take you to her.”

Jaime considered her, eyes cold. _His face is that of a stranger_ , she suddenly thought with a shiver, _he hardly looks the same at all_. Where her golden brother had once stood there was now a hard faced, handless man with a cruel twist to his mouth, a man who lacked any sort of courage. He had let that woman soften him, let her make him weak and foolish, lead him to plot against his own sister.

“Tell me where she is, or I swear before all the gods I will end you myself.”

A chilling thought occurred to her.

Maybe Jaime had even been the one to level these wretched accusations against her. Maybe this was the cumulation of all the plotting he and his creature had done, how they planned to raise Sansa Stark to power. They would steal the throne from her, probably hand it to the Tyrells while the Wolf girl ruled in the North. It would also leave Casterly Rock for Jaime and Jaime alone…he had never wished for it before, to be sure, but maybe that cow of a woman had convinced him. The creature’s own hold was pitiful, barely more than a solitary rock dumped in the ocean, of course she would want Jaime to take up his inheritance and take the Rock for the misshapen offspring that he might plant in her belly.

_No, no that will not happen, I’ve stopped them before they could complete their schemes… she is dead or so close it will no longer matter._

Let him have his precious beast, she would be a broken thing now no good to anyone. He had chosen a grotesque over her and as soon as she was released Cersei intended to see that they both bore the full force of her wrath.

She would destroy Jaime before he could destroy her.

“You will find only a corpse lest you hurry, I fear. The only key was taken from me when they imprisoned me here, no one can reach her. I did not intend for her to die. That you may blame upon the High Septon for imprisoning me.”

The colour draining from his face was strangely almost enjoyable to watch.

“You’ll find her in the Tall Tower, brother. Or what is left of her.”

 

The Tower was not so high as the Tower of the Hand had once been, thankfully and was covered in a thick coat of creeping ivy. With two hands and in his prime Jaime would have scaled it with ease, barely breaking a sweat.

Now he had to wait impatiently for a ladder to be found that would reach high enough. Even then climbing up with one-hand was sure to be arduous, even more so than climbing down to the dungeons had been.

Lord Selwyn stood next to him, watching the proceedings with a wary eye as if he still expected some trick. A crowd of curious onlookers had begun to congregate as well, obviously wondering what all the commotion was about.

It was difficult not to think of the hope that had shone in Cersei’s eyes in the first moment when she had seen him.

Ser Boros Blount appeared with two squires who were carefully balancing the ladder between them. His eyes flickered between Jaime’s stump and the high tower.

“Lord Commander perhaps someone else could-“

“No.”

He needed to be the one.

Brienne’s father stepped forward, clearing his throat.

“I’ll go.”

Jaime shot the man a look while beginning to unbuckle his cumbersome Kingsguard armour. No point in hauling all the extra weight up there after-all.

“You think you’d fit through the window? You are not a small man Lord Selwyn.”

“Get them to fetch the boy then. It doesn’t look much like you’ll fit yourself.”

“No…I have to try first.”

He didn’t say why it had to be him but there was a flash of understanding in the other man’s eyes and, unexpectedly he clapped a huge hand to his shoulder.

“Very well then, you go. I’ll go round, up the stairs to the door; get the blacksmith to work on the hinges. There’s not a chance in any of the seven hells my daughter will be fitting through that window after all.”

Taking a deep breath, Jaime put his foot on the first rung.

The climb took longer than it should have and he was conscious of all those in the courtyard below watching his progress. He could hook his stump over the rungs but it was in constant danger of slipping as he hauled himself up.

At least that would give them a show, the Lord Commander tumbling to his death.

Absurdly the memory of climbing into Cersei’s bedroom window came to him, back when they were young enough that it still seemed exciting and romantic. It had been an unwise thing to do, an unknown figure climbing into the Queen’s bedchambers was as likely to be killed on sight as anything. But he’d been a young fool in love.

Jaime reached the top but not before sweat had started sliding down his forehead, dampening his tunic at the neck.

The window was even smaller than it had appeared from the ground, covered in a rather weather-beaten wooden shutter. It looked frail enough, and would be easy to pull away but the opening it covered was far narrower than it had seemed.

_Perhaps Lord Selwyn is right and I won’t fit._

The thought of having to arduously lower himself rung by rung back down to the jeering crowd in the courtyard steeled him.

Jaime brought his elbow to smash open wooden covering on the little window, splinters lodging themselves in the heavy fabric of his coat. The wayward slivers of wood scratched at his skin as he reached forward and hauled himself through the narrow gap as best he could.

The fall onto the stone floor beyond jarred his shoulder, sending a little shock of pain through his body.

“This is getting to be a habit,” he groaned as he clambered to his feet “Can you please stop getting yourself into situations where I need to rescue you wench?”

Jaime stopped, staring.

There was blood on the straw, blood on the simple shift she wore, blood matted into the pale blonde of her hair . So much blood.

He could see a little of her back above the loose collar and it looked like it had been torn to ribbons, criss-crossed with welts and cuts.  She lay, unmoving on the straw bed, long legs stretched out onto the cold stone floor…he could see the undersides of her feet were burnt raw- pink, shiny and blistered.

He couldn’t see if she was breathing…

“I’m dreaming again.”

The words were soft, barely even a whisper.

His knees weakened for a moment and he had to put a hand out to steady himself on the wall lest he topple to the floor.

“Brienne.”

It was all he could think to say, he couldn’t even bring himself to move closer to her lest he realise he’d been hearing things.

Her eyelids slid slowly back to reveal eyes that were startlingly blue even in the dimness of the room. As if it were a signal his knees gave, slamming painfully onto the stone floor. The noise seemed to startle her and she tried to move away instinctively, cringing in on herself as if in expectation of a blow.

“They wanted me to say you’d been plotting against the Queen,” she mumbled eyes still half-focused “But I wouldn’t.”

He reached out and gingerly picked up one of her hands, feeling the minute bones shift under his grip. The webbing in-between her fingers was covered in dried blood, looked like it had been pierced, methodically. “Stupid…stubborn…wench,” he murmured, finally finding his voice “You should have just told them what they wanted to hear. Your damned honour will get you killed.”

Her eyelids fluttered for a moment before sliding closed again, and in a voice so quiet it was barely more than a whisper answered,

“It would’ve been a lie…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For Snow, Maggie and Chicky, for their slightly overwhelming but always lovely enthusiasm for this fanfiction ;)


	9. Chapter 9

Brienne had spoken no more since he’d carried her from the tower. Her dead weight had made his arms ache, made his shoulders feel as if they were on fire but he had refused all help. The entirety of the long walk down the stairs and to his chambers he had held her as carefully as if she were a babe in arms.

Jaime was sure that someone had offered another room for her but his feet had led him down the most familiar path. He laid her with great care on the slightly dusty sheets of his bed, ignoring those who were clustering around him, bleating questions in his ears.

His hand was red where he’d held her, his shirt front streaked with the tower dirt and her blood.

He finally turned to face that small knot of people that had followed him in and singled out one in particular. Boros Blount seemed to shrink under his stare.

“Who was it?”

Jaime asked, wondering vaguely what was showing in his face to make the other man look so terrified. Even on the battlefield men had rarely cowered so pitifully before him.

“Qyburn is the only butcher here, my lord. He takes men down to the Black Cells and more often n’ naught they don’t come back up.”

There was a flash of pain in his phantom hand then, real or imagined he wasn’t sure.

_Qyburn. Of course._

“Bring him to me. The rest of you get out.”

It was not quite the same as when his father died, when he had only been able to feel a queer blankness, an absence of any emotion. Now he could feel his anger and his grief swirling just out of reach, as if they belonged to another person but at any moment could break over him.

Maybe because Brienne was not yet dead.

Ser Boros hesitated as the others hastily retreated.

“The Queen is walking today, my lord. She’s confessed her sins to the High Septon and has been released until her trial.”

Confessed her sins? Jaime wondered vaguely which sins Cersei had laid claim too. Doubtful she would allow anything to threaten Tommen’s claim and no one had yet come to drag him away for treason, so she had probably given the High Septon only part of the truth if any at all.

_Did she admit to torturing an innocent woman whose only blame lay in trusting me?_

“Fetch me Grand Maester Pycelle, her wounds need attending.”

Boros looked as if he might have said more but he seemed think better off it and hurried out of the room. Now only Lord Selwyn remained, ashen faced as he pulled up a chair to his daughter’s bedside.

 

When Qyburn entered, he had Ser Boros on one side and Ser Balon on the other. He didn’t seem as if he was afraid, merely slightly hesitant.

_He’s a fool then._

“Ah, Ser Jaime. How is your hand, my lord?”

He struck out at the little man, sending him flying backwards onto the stone floor. The blow would’ve been more devastating with his golden hand he was sure but it would have denied him the pleasure of feeling his fist collide with Qyburn’s flesh.

He moved to stand over him, watching the smaller man blink up at him with a look that was difficult to read.

“What did you think you were doing?”

“Carrying out the Queen’s orders, my lord. It was not my place to question her.” His voice was still calm, only sounding vaguely perturbed by this turn of events even with blood running freely down his face. His eyes were vaguely reproachful as if attempting to remind Jaime that he owed him what was left of his arm.

_A poor prize if the price was Brienne’s life._

“You are a snivelling little weasel of a man and I will see that you receive justice for all you have done.”

He turned to speak to the two that had brought him up.

“I want this man locked in the cells. And where in the seven hells is Pycelle?”

They were quick enough to follow his orders but he found himself wondering which of them had assisted in Brienne’s torment. He was not fool enough to think one woman and a man of Qyburn’s limited stature would be enough to subdue her.  No there would have been accomplices who held her down, who forced her from the tower and dragged her down the stair to the Black Cells…

When Pycelle finally came it was with two septas who tried to press Jaime into leaving the room. In the end a compromise was reached and he stood facing the wall, feeling vaguely like a chastised child, as they went about their business. When he was again allowed to turn he saw the Septas ferrying away blood stained rags and pails of pinkish water.

Their faces were grave.

“Will she recover?”

“It is….difficult to say,” Pycelle reached up absently to scratch at his face where his beard had once been “She has been badly hurt, starved, some of the wounds are infected…” he coughed, clearing his throat “…but she is strong, in her prime. She may yet surprise us all.”

“If she dies, make sure Qyburn dies too. Something suitable painful, if you please.”

His voice was dead and dull to his own ears, the fight from earlier gone from him.

Lord Selwyn had been spared the indignity of being made to face the wall, instead he’d remained seated at his daughter’s bedside, staring resolutely down at his hands. Now he levered himself from the chair, seemingly a far older man than the one who had stood with him in the courtyard before.

The other man’s eyes were wet when he turned to face him, something Jaime did his best to appear not to notice.

“I think I will go pay a visit to this Qyburn.”

Jaime nodded, watching as Brienne’s father took his leave, the man moving as if he carried half the Keep upon his shoulders.

He lit the fire, clumsily, with his remaining hand and then sat down on the bed. Carefully he reached out and took Brienne’s hand. It was cold in his, thin and skeletal.  Her bones felt as if they would shatter should he tighten his grip.

The room seemed to echo with the sound of her breath as it rasped and rattled in her chest. Her imprisonment had hollowed out her cheeks, left deep bruise-coloured shadows beneath her eyes. One of the septa’s had bathed the layers of blood and dirt from her but all it had served to do was make her look more like a corpse.

Jaime sat, running this thumb absently over the parchment thin skin of her hand, staring into the guttering little fire until it had burned down to embers.

Lord Selwyn re-entered the room some time later, looking tired but grimly satisfied. His shirt sleeves were stained with flecks of red here and there, visible even in the dim light of the fading fire.

“He’s alive,” was all he said.

_Good, a quick death would be too merciful for what he’s done, but that snivelling little weasel cannot take all or even most of the blame for this._

Carefully he laid her hand back down on the blanket and got to his feet.

Lord Selwyn was watching him with grim eyes as he picked up Oathkeeper and buckled it with a little difficulty about his hips but the other man made no comment.  Instead he just took up Jaime’s old position on the bed, gently holding his daughter’s hand.

Jaime hesitated by the door.

“I know you will take care of her, Lord Selwyn. And when she wakes…”

He paused, unable to put to words anything within him. What could he say to her that would make it any better?

_Nothing. There was nothing._

“…tell I am sorry for all that has befallen her.”

 

An icy wind was howling round the Keep and making the corridors almost unbearably cold to walk, Jaime quickened his pace wishing he had thought to pick up his cloak.

_How much colder would it have been in that tower with only a threadbare blanket? How many nights had she shivered herself to sleep still refusing to betray me?_

He hadn’t deserved such devotion but he would find some way to make himself worthy of it.

Luck would have it that Boros Blount and Meryn Trant were those who were on guard outside of Cersei’s chambers. _An idiot and a vicious brute to be sure_ , Jaime thought, _but they are still more likely to let me pass than the Kettleblacks or any man the High Septon might have sent._

“The King has need of you.”

An easily disproved lie but it would buy him time. They hesitated and for a moment he wondered if they would stand against him, even someone like Blount could probably defeat him as he was currently, one-handed and exhausted.

“I am your Lord Commander and I command it. Go, I will guard the Queen.”

Without waiting to see if they obeyed he pushed open the door, the pale light spilling into the room and illuminating the slumbering figure on the bed.

Cersei was sleeping without a bed maid tonight, alone in the massed pile of blankets, maybe the Septons had taken them away to confirm or deny her confessions. Her stay in the Sept had done little to hollow the roundness of her cheeks, the High Septon had obviously been a more lenient jailor to her, but her golden hair was all gone. He remembered when he had shorn his own locks when he’d made his escape, stared at his reflection in the river and thought how she would dislike the fact they were no longer mirror images.

The door thumped shut behind him and he made his way slowly to her bedside, finding his way easily in the dim light from memory. How many nights had he slipped into her bedchamber like this? Sent away the guards on some pretence and crawled beneath her sheets to satisfy both their hunger?

There was an empty flagon beside her bed which did not surprise him greatly.  Her lips were stained a slight purplish red from the wine.

He remembered watching her sleep that night before he left, watching how the light caught in her golden hair and on her smooth skin as he struggled with the idea that she could have had Brienne killed.

_Who did you confess to fucking, sweet sister? How many were there that Tyrion did not know about?_

Her eyes slid open.

“Jaime!”

Cersei’s hands were clenched on her bedclothes, drawing them slightly tighter about herself. He could not seem to take his eyes from them, still delicate and fine boned, the hands that held him tightly all those times, the fingernails that had scratched at his back in the throes of pleasure…

Brienne’s hands had once been strong and solid, designed more to hold the hilt of a sword than a lover close. Her confinement had transformed them to something almost as delicate as Cersei’s.

Her eyes flickered momentarily between his face and the hand resting on his sword pommel.

“You’re too craven,” she whispered “You won’t lay a hand on me.”

Jaime reached out a shaking hand, settling it gently on her smooth cheek. She seemed to take heart from it, voice becoming stronger.

“She was nothing more than a problem, Jaime. Death was the kindest thing for a creature like her, she did not belong in this world.”

_But she is not yet dead, sweet sister._

The words would not leave his lips. His fingers drifted lower and she arched her neck into his touch, eyes closing in bliss.

“We can be together again, it can be how it was…”

His hand grasped her neck more firmly and he leant over her.

“No.”

The fragile skin of her neck gave a little as he pushed down, tightening his grip. Her fingers clawed frantically at his hands, drawing blood on one and long scrapes in the gold of the other. The sound she made was a wet, rasping gurgle and he was sure he would be hearing it till his own death day.

Tears streamed down his face as he pressed down, the heavy gold of the hand making indents in her pale white throat. His phantom hand seemed to join in, the sensations getting confused as he pushed down. Jaime imagined he could feel both hands tighten.

Her eyes were fixed on his, he found it impossible to look away. There was no horror and only a little betrayal in those eyes. There was really only a terrible, terrible anger. Her nails dug into the backs of his hand again, blood welling where she gripped, running down in small rivulets to stain her bedsheets.  

_This is Cersei, your other half, how can you do this?_

But he remembered Brienne’s face… skeletal and gaunt and bloodied, remembered her shying away from his touch. _Because of me, you destroyed her because of me, because you could not bear for me to have anything in my life outside of you…_

_I loved you, I **loved** you and you never loved me._

Her hands fell away from his slowly, blood-stained fingers coming to rest splayed on the bedsheets.

Her eyes were still open, glassy and unseeing. About her pale white neck was a necklace of bruises and there was blood on her lips turning the underlying blue to a deep rich red. He kissed them, once, a final time.

Jaime was pleased to see that his hands were not shaking as he pulled the blood-flecked sheet up to cover her face.

“Goodnight, sweet sister. May you fall into the deepest of the Seven Hells.”


	10. Chapter 10

Jaime was sure his cell was more comfortable than either Brienne’s or…his sisters had been but it was still a cell nonetheless, with bars on the window and a stout lock on the door. And despite the relative comfort of the bed and the room he’d only slept a little, restlessly, and had woken before the dawn.

Cersei was dead, his golden twin, dead by his hand.

There would be a trial of course, but no one would claim his innocence, least of all him. When they’d found him standing over the dead king he had not denied that he slew him and when the Kingsguard had burst into his sisters chambers to find him with her corpse beside him he had not denied it either.

There was always the possibility of a trial by combat, though he wasn’t going to pretend it would be anything more than going out with one last show of defiance. Death had never scared him and it would be a clean death as well, it was something he would welcome. After all, he’d wanted his entire life to find something that was worth dying honourably for, Brienne would be as good as anything else.

_And it would be a fine thing to die with a sword in my hand._

It was a foolish thought to have though and after only a moment Jaime pushed it away. If he elected to face a trial by combat then he would be made a laughing stock, a once-great Lord Commander who could now barely hold a sword to defend himself. People would wonder how he even managed to over-power a woman like Cersei. To die with the laughter of the crowds ringing in his ears would be too much.

That left the Night’s Watch, to take the Black and live out his days shivering and cursing on the wall. Perhaps the death would be better…

_If I die, Cersei will be waiting for me._

The thought caught him by surprise and tears welled in his eyes, unbidden.  He felt suddenly dizzied, dazed like he’d taken a blow to the head in a melee.

_No, no I will not weep for her._

There was a rattle of keys and his door was opened. His uncle made his way inside looking, unsurprisingly, rather distressed.

“Jaime.”

“Uncle Kevan.”

His uncle’s expression was one of weary disappointment, as if he had found Jaime avoiding his lessons or teasing the Lions at the Rock rather than having been locked away for murdering his sister. As if this was just the last in the line of disappointments that had haunted Jaime’s life.

He hated that look.

“You are accused of kinslaying, and more, of regicide…of slaying the Queen Regent.”

“Accused? You mean there is doubt, Uncle? If so, allow me to remove it. I wrapped my hands-“ he held up both, gold and flesh “-around her throat and held them there until she ceased to breath.”

“Jaime-“ Kevan looked tired, exasperated.

“By all accounts you should be thanking me.”

“Your father is dead, your nephew is dead and your brother is wanted for slaying them. Now you kill your sister.”

_And does anyone mourn them? My father was a tyrant, if you listen to some, my son a cruel idiot and my sister was the greatest fool of them all._

“Yes, the legacy of the Lannisters- death, cruelty and idiocy. My father would be so proud.”

Uncle Kevan stared at him for a long moment, tired eyes searching his face for something. Then he said “Take the Black, Jaime.”

Jaime smiled, a sardonic little smile “What other choice do I have?”

His uncle sighed, a man with the weight of the entire Seven Kingdoms on his shoulders “None”

He supposed he would say the words, seal his fate  as soon-to-be Brother to sworn thieves and murders. Then again they might be preferable to likes of Ser Boros Blount and the bloody Kettleblacks  “I will take the Black”

There was a rather resigned sadness on his uncle’s face as he turned away. Jaime found himself wondering how the man would fare shouldering the burden he’d been left with, if he could salvage the Lannister family name from the mire of madness and brutal ends it had slipped into.

Ser Kevan paused by the door, looking back at him for a moment “Brienne of Tarth has woken.”

  
  


Brienne had the windows in her borrowed chambers flung wide open and a sharp breeze was blowing in from off the sea, chilling the air, ruffling both her hair and the bedsheets lightly. Remembering his own experience of being shut away in a black pit of a cell, he understood her reasons even if her septas were like as not to throw a fit.

_I was half-drunk on sunlight and sweet air when Lady Stark first released me._

“My lady, it’s good to see you’re awake.”

The squire at her bedside scrambled to his feet and belatedly he realised it was the boy that had accompanied Lord Selwyn. He nodded to him, grateful when the boy retreated to the door without being asked.

Her confinement had done nothing to improve the wench’s looks, that was certain, though she perhaps looked a little less like a corpse than she had the previous day. Her shoulders and chest were swathed in bandages and he imagined under her baggy nightshirt the rest of her was the same. Qyburn and his sister had apparently made sure there was little of her left untouched.

“I thought I had dreamt you…in the tower”

It was rather difficult to make out her voice over the sound of the wind, it was still cracked and barely more than a whisper.  Jaime decided to seat himself on the edge of her bed, that way he might actually have a chance at hearing her. He tried not to let his chains dirty the white of the linens. They were foolish anyway, if he took off his golden hand he could escape them easily but it was the look of the thing of course. Couldn’t have the man who slew the Queen Regent walking around without chains.  He saw Brienne notice them, saw the perpetual frown on her face deepen at the sight.

“When we first met, I came to you like this” He held up his hands, chains rattling “I seem to find myself in chains more often than not lately”

The wench still had a look of dull confusion on her face “Why are you chained? Because you freed me?”

“No, my crime is a bit more serious than that.”

_I killed Cersei, I killed my beautiful golden fool of a twin because she betrayed me, because she hurt you to hurt me, because it’s my fault this was done to you._

He couldn’t force the words from his tongue.

“Your sister…” Her eyes widened as she searched his face, realisation dawning in them. _The wench knows me too well._

There was such a lot of compassion in those big blue eyes then that he felt a spark of irrational anger. Why should she pity him? She would not be this broken wreck of a woman if it was not for him, not for his golden fool of a sister. Brienne of Tarth should be cursing the gods for the day she met him, not staring at him with those eyes.

They really were her only beauty.

“She’s dead?”

Her words were soft, almost awed. Oddly, it made it difficult to draw breath and he wondered for a moment if he would have another dizzy spell, maybe fall to his knees before her bedside.

“I am to exchange my white cloak for a black one. I go North in the morning.”

After a long moment she nodded, just the smallest movement of her head.

He realised, aching and bitter, that they really had very little to say to each other. So instead of talking, he leant down and kissed her, a simple press of skin on skin. Her lips were unexpectedly soft and yielding against his. _Gods, she’s going to be the last woman I ever kiss…no women at the Wall._

When he pulled back, Jaime saw her face was made even more homely by the look of surprise.

“Why did you do that?”

 _Why indeed…what possessed me?_  There had been little thought behind the action, merely that in that moment it had been better than seeing the sentiment shining in her eyes.

“Have you not heard? We are a ballad for minstrels to butcher in taverns, a love tale told for maids to sigh over while they do needlework...and what kind of ballad ends without a kiss?”

“Jaime…”

His Uncle appeared at the door, Brienne’s trusty squire scrambling to this feet to admit him. So his time was done apparently and it was away to the Wall with him, shipped off to dwindle into obscurity in that great frozen wasteland.

He stood, grateful that the wench didn’t say anything more. Rather than turn and say his goodbyes, he gave instruction to his uncle.

“She can stay here until she is well enough to go to Tarth and give her Oathkeeper if you please, the sword is hers by right.”

“I won’t go to Tarth.”

They both looked over to the bed where she was struggling upright. Her squire sprang to his feet to assist her. There was determination shining in her ugly face now. _There, that’s the same stubborn wench I remember._

“I have yet to fulfil my oath, I need to find Sansa Stark…”

Brienne met his eyes and the smile that she gave him was small, barely there but it still felt like a triumph.

“The Wall seems like a good place to start.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh well.... finally! About 4 months after it was started, I've finished it! I would like to thank Snow for being an amazing beta, Maggie for drawing such beautiful pictures for it and SigilBroken whose enthusiasm for this story was all that kept me going on it sometimes!

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the whole big 'Fairytales for Halloween' thing that me and the lovely, lovely Ides/H3L set up with the idea of asking our favourite J/B authors to write stories based around classic fairytales. I picked 'Rapunzel' and set about writing a canon-centered, mostly Cersei POV tale of possessiveness and revenge that will be posted over the next few days!
> 
> Thanks SO much to everyone who agreed to take part, you've all been amazing and I am absolutely looking forward to reading those which I haven't yet seen! :D


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